One Big Happy Family
Paul Ryan climbed down from the International Harvester and stretched the crick out of his back. His father Peter Belfour came over and joined him.
"You did a good job today son. I appreciate you working on your birthday," Peter slapped his son on the back.
"Come on I have a treat for you," Peter led his son to the pickup truck parked in the shade of what used to be the farmhands barracks and was now the garage and workshop where Peter kept his farm machinery.
He had converted part of the building into a games room for the children, updating the gaming equipment as the kids got older. Peter no longer hired farmhands to help with the corn harvest. Advances in technology and his son growing to an age where he could work on the farm meant that outside assistance was no longer necessary, which suited Paul, his mother Margaret and his aunt Millicent, perfectly. They didn't want outsiders ruining their perfect lives.
They drove to the creek which ran through the property, discussing the corn harvest and other farming issues. Peter stopped at a grassy clearing and tossed a throw rug on the soft green grass under the shade of a big tree right beside the creek bank. He had Peter bring along the cooler from the back of the truck.
"Here. Today you are a man so you get to have a man's drink," Peter handed his son an icy-cold beer.
"Happy eighteenth birthday son," Peter clinked the neck of his bottle against Paul's.
"It's getting on for six o'clock dad; don't you have to be home?" Paul asked.
Paul and his cousin Jessica knew that they had to stay clear of the house between six and seven o'clock. They didn't know exactly know why but they strongly suspected it had to do with Peter wanting some alone time Paul's mother Margaret before dinner.
Although Paul and Jessica were still virgins they knew all about sex. Living on a farm they had witnessed animals doing it and their respective mothers had spoken to them both about the birds and the bees and procreation had been part of their education. They had no reason to question Peter's demand that they stay out of the house for an hour after he finished work. They had been home schooled and born and raised on the farm and they did whatever they were told to do by their elders without question. In the summer the cousins would swim in the creek and in the winter they would watch TV or play board games or pool in the games room until it was seven o'clock and time for supper.
"Now that you're a man there are certain things you need to know son," Peter said gravely.
"You never questioned me as to why you and Jessica are home schooled and why we don't associate much with the townsfolk," Peter said.
"I never thought to. Mom and Aunt Millie told us that we have an idyllic life here on the farm. We have everything we need. We still go into town now and then and we go to the stores, to the movies, to the soda fountain. I'm happy with the way we live," Paul replied.
"And Jess... she's happy too? You and her get along really well I've noticed," Peter smiled knowingly at his son.
Paul blushed. When Jessica had turned eighteen she had been allowed to wear makeup and nylons, skilled in the art by her mother and her aunt, the pretty girl had turned into an attractive young woman. When they swam together in the creek Paul was mesmerised by her body clad in her body-hugging lycra swimsuit.
Jessica had turned eighteen just ahead of Paul and was told by her mother that she should dress like an adult in the farmhouse: sheer nylons with tight pencil skirts and tight satin blouses. She looked a lot like her mother Millicent: blonde-haired, big-breasted and long-legged with a buxom figure.
Paul had been stealing Jessica's panties from the washing basket in the bathroom as well as his mother's and his aunt's. He'd masturbate with them and then placed them carefully back where he found them. He'd also take their discarded nylons from the trash and use them to jack off, placing his mother's gauzy nylon stocking or his aunt's or cousin's sheer pantyhose over his cock and stroke himself whilst sniffing their panties.
"Yes Pop; Jessica seems just as happy as I am," Paul took a long sip on his beer.
"Come on boy let's take a swim," Peter mussed his son's hair and the men stripped to their shorts and dived into the cool clear water of the creek.
They lay on the blanket in the waning sunlight, drying off.
"Get yourself another beer and climb back in the truck. I want to show you something," Peter got up from the blanket a little gingerly from the day's work.
Peter was now in his mid-thirties and Meg and Millie were the wrong side of forty but they were still very attractive women who looked after themselves. Meg still favoured the fifties fashion from her youth while Millie followed the current fashion trends; she'd always been more city than her sister.
Peter and Paul drove through fields of corn and down a dusty track until they came to a copse of unworkable land located roughly in the middle of the farm. Peter knew that the small parcel of arid, scrubby land that was strewn with boulders and knotted Honey Locust and was unusable. His father had told him and Jessica to stay out of it as it was a breeding ground for copperheads and rattlers and filled with dangerous sinkholes.
Peter parked the truck and Paul followed him deep into the centre of the copse. When his father arrived at a pile of weather-beaten branches and began to pull at them, Paul helped his father until they exposed an almost unrecognisable rusting piece of junk. Only the rotting tires gave evidence to the fact that it had once been an automobile of some kind.
"Is that an old truck or piece of farm machinery?" Paul asked, scratching his head.
"It used to be my father's pickup," Peter said matter-of-factly.
"That's grandpa's car? Mom told me that he disappeared without a trace," Paul looked astonished.
"Your grandpa was a lush who was letting the farm go to ruin and he was a violent man who beat his wife and denied her the loving she deserved," Peter sighed.
"He beat grandma? I'm sorry I never met her. Mom showed me some old pictures of her but she doesn't speak about her much," Paul sighed.
"No William Balfour didn't beat grandma. He beat you mother. He beat me. He beat his wife and son," Peter sighed.
Paul was speechless. He let the bottle of beer fall from his hand.
"I buried him there," Peter pointed to a depression in the sandy soil.
Something told Paul not to ask his father whether it was poor health, an accident or something else that had killed his grandfather. His mother never spoke of him.
"Dad I don't get it. You said he beat his wife but that he didn't beat grandma... that makes no sense," Paul's head was spinning.
"He was married to your mother... to Margaret," Peter said softly.
"And I was the son he beat," Peter breathed.
